Words for the ones who come next.

Spring, 1998

To My grandchildren,

If you remember nothing else of me, remember the kitchen. Remember the warmth, the small impatience of waiting for the bread, and how good it felt to finally tear it open. Most things in life are like that. The waiting matters. So does the tearing open.

— Grandma Rosa

Winter, 2004

To My future great-grandchild,

I never met you, but I left this porch light on. When you feel small under the sky, look at the first star. That's me, telling you I'm proud of you for whatever you just did, and for whatever you're about to try. Be brave in small ways. The big ones take care of themselves.

— Grandpa Thomas

June 12, 1996

To My daughter, on her wedding day,

Choose patience. Choose laughter. Choose the small kindnesses, even on the days you don't feel like it — especially on those days. That is the whole secret. The rest, you'll figure out together. I love you. Don't forget to call on Sundays.

— Dad